


I'm driving my fire to some place safe and warm.

by jjwritesthings



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry Wilbur Soot, Author Projecting onto Wilbur Soot, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Brotherly Love, Dysfunctional Family, I was angry when I wrote this, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Doomsday, Post-S2 Finale? Maybe, Punching, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Has Daddy Issues, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, its subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjwritesthings/pseuds/jjwritesthings
Summary: People thought Wilbur's fire died when he did.Then Wilbur got resurrected.Wilbur wasn't finished burning just yet.(or in other words, Wilbur's back and he makes some decisions)
Relationships: Eret & Floris | Fundy, Eret & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 797
Collections: Found family to make me feel something, MCYT Fic Rec, best smp stories





	I'm driving my fire to some place safe and warm.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAA IT'S FINALLY POSTED SWEET JESUS
> 
> I apologise in advance if this is clunky or bad, when I started writing this I was angry and spurred on, and I wanted to get it finished but somehow my brain went 'what if we find doing anything difficult for like 2 weeks'
> 
> and now we're here!
> 
> but anyways, my depression aside, I'm sort of half proud of this pic, so do enjoy :)
> 
> Protective angry older brother Revivedbur for the win!

A simmering anger seemed to run through Phil’s sons.

Techno’s anger was focused and corked, kept under a tight lock, used and molded to his will. His anger pulled him front and centre, and pushed him into the sky. He used it as his tool, his motivator, a friend to the voices in his head and a constant whisper in the dark. And so, when Techno woke up choosing violence, he let his anger come out and play a dangerous game.

Tommy’s anger was explosive, impulsive, powerful and emotional. Tommy used his anger to move hearts, minds, worlds. He was hardly ever in control of it and sometimes that was a good thing, letting it flow out unhinged, unpredictable, like land-mines. Tommy’s anger burned, drowned and silenced. Tommy’s anger was loud, and when he opened the gates, it was merciless. So, when the morning broke and he chose violence, anger burst the damns, in hopes it drowned everyone.

When Wilbur woke up from his resurrection, he looked his father straight in the eye and chose violence.

And after Phil had a good looking purple bruise on his face and probably broken nose considering all the bleeding coming from it, Wilbur spoke.

“You know,” Wilbur said with a gravelly deep voice, probably from the lack of use. “I didn’t really think you could get worse than killing your son,” Wilbur chuckled, the insanity dulled but seeping through his tone. He looked at his father, who was still holding his face in agony, hunched over a little. God he looked so pathetic. Wilbur gripped his hair again to ground himself, the resurrection having seeped any energy from his body, making him feel dizzy. Looking up to the sky, he sees that it was ironically a pleasant day, with few clouds dusting the bright blue sky and the sun shining down onto the lush grass on the hills surrounding him and Phil, and the others too, but who Wilbur couldn’t bother to notice yet. 

He closed his eyes and let himself take a proper breath of fresh air. He could still smell smoke and gunpowder, and there was a familiar metallic taste in his mouth. He thinks for a split second he’s back to November, Phil clutching him in his arms while he bled out in the control room, the dust and the ash creating a beautiful tragic atmosphere. That time felt good, that time felt freeing. This time feels prisoning, bitter. “It's always over and beyond with you Phil, isn't it?” Wilbur doesn’t even bother to look down, he kept his eyes up at the blinding sun, and finding he didn’t care, he didn’t. 

He laughed with his whole chest because the situation couldn’t be more hilarious and tragic, and it hurts. It always hurts. "It's always more, and more and more, until you're bored.” he spat the words out like poison, a seething hatred in his voice as he directed them at Phil. “Until you've played your fucking game and you're bored. Look! Look at this!” Wilbur screamed, quickly turning around towards where the shrine lay and where the crater of L’manburg stood. He clenched his fist so hard he felt he might pop a knuckle. “I wanted L'Manburg destroyed, yes,” He caught Fundy’s eye and his son almost looked away. Almost. He looked Wilbur in the eyes and furrowed his brows to show he was still angry. Wilbur understood. 

“But not the people,” Wil found his eyes back onto Phil, who had gotten up to watch his son, and Wilbur was met with a pained look. He didn’t care for it. “not their hearts, not their souls. Christ Phil-” he whipped around again and stormed his way over to the older man. “-a lesson? A fucking lesson? You have some guts to call yourself a father if you think what you've done here is a lesson." He prodded his fingers deep into Phil’s chest, and his father winced but didn’t back away. Good, he wasn’t running away this time.

“So you remember?” Phil whispered, hanging his head. Wilbur only scoffed at that.

“Remember? Of course I do,” It was so violently true how all of Ghostbur’s memories had rushed into him as he came back. He could say it was as harrowing as his final moments on the 16th. “I wish I didn’t remember every shitty thing that’s happened since I’ve been away- I even got that bastard Ghostbur’s forgotten memories too, you know, the bad ones, Phil, the ones so horrible that he has to forget them- of course I fucking remember.”

Phil stayed silent as he absorbed Wilbur’s tempered words, and then spoke again. “Wil, I had to,” He tried to softly hold his son’s hand but Wilbur violently ripped his hand away, slapping Phil’s. He didn’t notice the alarmed look that on Phil's face.

Wilbur looked down at the ground, the stone below his feet dusty with gunpowder and ash still. Nothing has changed in retrospect, time spins and repeats and nothing changes really. Time is a flat fucking circle. He clenches his firsts harder and he feels his uneven nails dig into his palms and feels the sparking sensation of pain. Light and yet not there, not enough. Wilbur finds he didn’t care, he didn’t. “Did you? Or did you just go along with whatever your favourite son wants?” He spat the last words out. 

“Wil-”

“Stop lying to yourself!” Wilbur throws his arms out and it feels familiar. This anger feels familiar but the madness isn’t there this time. There’s a familiar warmth and burn to this fire in his heart, but this time he knows how to use it, control it, hush it and let it run wild. It’s like the world and all its fire is under his hand and it feels so good. “Don’t think for a second that you don’t choose favourites. Jesus, read between the lines for once. Look at how you went wherever it was the big ol’ strong Blade went, following like a fucking puppy,” he raised his voice once more at Phil, who stumbled back as Wilbur made his way over to him as he continued on. He was clearly scared, and all it did was spur Wilbur on. “You had your fun and games while I had my son and my little brother fight in a war\- no actually scratch that- wars. Plural.” Wilbur saw in the corner of his eyes that Fundy shifted, and Eret put a hand over his arm in comfort. He found himself warmed at the sight. What a strange time to be alive.

But he wasn’t finished, the fire was still alive and kicking, and he was just getting started. “And even when the letters stopped coming, clearly that indication still wasn’t enough to come and see if your other two sons were okay- clearly, even when I was losing it in that fucking shit-hole of a ravine and Tommy was growing up to be a soldier and an adult in the span of a month, you didn’t come, you didn’t care.” By the time Wilbur was finished he was towering over Phil, getting so close to his face he could feel the air that they were sharing. A fire was lashing and roaring in his heart, but this time he was going to use it to show everyone that you shouldn’t play with fire, lest you get burned. He was going to show everyone who said otherwise that he would burn the world down and build it again for love, for people. Not a damn country, not anymore.

It only registered to him that Phil was crying when he started to hear his father’s breath shaking faintly. The thing that pissed him off more than anything was that it still hurt his heart. The man that was his father but never fathered him, not really, the man that Wilbur looked up to and then was struck down by, it still hurt to see him break like this. Wilbur wanted to find the need not to care, he couldn’t care. Not for Phil, not right now.

No, he had others he needed to focus on first. The most important ones, the ones that mattered. 

He walked past Phil without another word and silently made his way over to where Eret and Fundy stood. “It’s weird to say this,” Wilbur says towards Eret, putting a hand on his shoulder. “but it’s good to see you, Eret. Thanks for taking care of Fundy,” He smiled at him, and surprisingly, Eret gave a small, soft one in return. Well, that’s a good improvement to start with, a good start to mending all the broken pieces of relationships and people he had left behind. It wasn’t a restart, but it was a second chance, and he was going to take it all right. 

“And Fundy,” he looked to his right to meet his son’s eyes for the first time in what felt like forever and only just yesterday. He moved his hand onto Fundy’s shoulder and gave a small squeeze in reassurance. “my little boy, my little champion,” a lump was forming in his throat when he spoke the words and he was trying his hardest not to cry at the moment. He smiled. “I understand that you’re probably still very...angry with me, rightly so too. So-” he patted his son’s shoulder and pushed down all the tears he was holding. Fuck, this was harder than he thought it would be. “-just know when you’re ready to talk, alright kid?” He passed a smile to Fundy once more and nods to Eret again in a silent thank you. 

He begins to walk away, in hopes of finding his younger brother, and then he realises-

He doesn’t even know where he is.

He looks over to the pair again. “Hey Eret, can you show me where Tommy might be?”

\---

Tommy was just about getting used to a sub-normal life, but really, he wasn’t surprised that it wouldn’t last longer than a day or two. 

Construction on the hotel was going well, and with Sam Nook helping along the way, Tommy felt himself getting things done a lot quicker than he had been able to in the past, or even expected. He walked into his dirt hut, exhausted from all the legwork he had been doing with the tasks that Sam Nook gave him, and made a bee-line for the shower. He had finally made a habit of taking care of himself, or Sam had made him to, with showering becoming a part of the day he looked forward to.

He wouldn’t think too hard about the fact that maybe another reason he showered was to wash away any evidence of Dream’s painful touch away from his skin. To rub away any evidence of being so hurt, so weak, so damaged. As if he could wash away any of the scars that littered his body anyway.

The steam filled the bathroom as Tommy changed and lay down on his bed, both physically and mentally tired from the day. Sure, getting to help Sam Nook with the hotel was fun and all, but with all the current commotion about the Crimson Egg and...blood vines? Well, it was eating him up. Constantly being pushed to save everyone, stumbling into wars and wars again and again because as soon as he had someone good in his life like Puffy or Sam, of course it just had to be ripped away from him. It wasn’t fucking fair, it never was.

He let out a heavy sigh.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be for him.

He let himself stare up at the dirt ceiling, either trying to blank his mind over or tune it out, he just wanted to stop thinking about the heavy truth that lay next to him in his bed, trying to ignore it as it festered in the corner of his mind. He didn’t want to think about the life he would have to live tomorrow morning once again, he didn’t want to have to push through and fight again, he didn’t want to keep putting on a smile he couldn’t hold. He was done fighting, he was tired. God, so, so tired.

A voice pulled him out from his thoughts. He couldn’t hear it very well from where he was lying down, but it still struck something in him, making him want to listen more closely. He couldn’t make out what the muffled voices where saying from the outside, but one of the voices stuck out- and he recognised it for some reason and-

Wait.

No way.

No.

It can’t be-

He-

He’s here.

...

Is he?

Tommy gets up from his bed and shuffles closer to where his door is to listen in more. He can make out Eret’s bright voice filling up the air as he talks to the others, and he thinks he hears Fundy make a light comment or two, sounding on edge a little. Well, he always was nowadays. He keeps near the wooden door, racking his brain for where he knows that voice and why his heart is aching and-

Then like a match, it strikes. And suddenly all the flames are rushing in.

Surely it was just Ghostbur outside? Maybe he was just tired- and that’s why his voice sounded lower. Maybe all that instability mulling around in the back of his head finally decided to make him fucking hallucinate his dead older brother. 

And yet...surely they would have told him if his brother was actually going to be brought back? They would have told him, right? He would have been there. He always had. 

But- trying to convince himself that Wilbur wasn’t back didn’t help that it really might just be him outside the door. 

That voice, the resonance, the quietness, the slight lull here and there, and a sort of rasp and dull fire hanging in it.

No- this wasn’t Ghostbur at all. Ghostbur was light and softening, bright but hollow, a mere shadow of who Wilbur had been, a broken piece ripped from the puzzle.

This voice was warm and deep, full of knowing and knowledge. This voice had a fire still burning in it and a darkness that lay quietly too. A voice so full of fire and so full of life.

So very alive.

Tommy feels like breaking at the realisation. His brother, his real brother, was alive. Wilbur had risen from the ash and soot despite everything, even despite fucking death. He chuckled at that. 

“Stubborn, eh? Guess it runs in the family.” Tommy remembered Wilbur saying. Boy how right he had been.

He hears Wilbur’s laugh and he was torn between walking away and screaming his anger and pain out in another room, or running to his brother and crushing him with a hug. It felt like there was a tearing between his heart, pulling in opposite directions with both sides fighting for control as he struggled with what to do if or when he finally saw Wilbur. What would he do? Laugh, cry? Say nothing? Part of him wished for all three. He stood still at the doors, back to the wall as he strained to keep on listening to the three men outside. He couldn’t hear them as clearly now- though he could barely make out any words from inside anyway- they seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. Tommy pressed his ear further into the wall, desperately trying to pick up on what they might be saying, if anything it was probably something to do with him, considering they had stopped right outside his place. 

He didn’t notice someone had come to his door, in hopes of seeing him.

There’s the creak of the door opening and a familiar brown coat steps into Tommy’s home.

Wilbur walked into Tommy’s dirt hut (which he still lives in- christ), looking around the small place that was still his younger brother’s home. “He really still lives in this shithole? You’d think-” he’s tackled by what he could only see as a blur of blonde hair and limbs before he can say anything else.

In the end, Tommy didn’t know what to do when he saw Wilbur. He just clung onto him and didn’t let go for dear life, lest his brother disappear once more. He sobbed into Wilbur’s chest and it was like the final strung had been cut away, like freedom, in the strangest possible way. Holding his brother, alive once more, a sudden weight had been lifted off his shoulders and yet his breath was still held. He wracked out sobs into Wilbur’s chest loudly as Wilbur held him close, hushing and rocking him slowly, holding him tightly as they both embraced on the ground, and Tommy debated in his head whether having Wilbur back was going to be a breath of fresh air or a mouthful of ash again. Whether this time history will chase its own tail or break in a new path. He couldn’t find himself to care in the moment.

“Oh Toms,” Wilbur ran a hand through Tommy’s unkempt hair as the younger brother shook through his sobs. Tommy kept his death grip on Wilbur’s coat, but he looked up to meet his brown eyes. A watery brown met an ocean blue, and the fire in the willow brown of Wilbur’s had just been newly sparked, and the rush and wave of Tommy’s had died months ago. 

“Wil, you’re- you’re actually-” Tommy cut himself off as he tried to catch his breath, tears still falling. 

Wilbur rubbed Tommy’s back to calm him and smiled. His little brother really hadn’t changed in some ways. “Yeah, it’s me,” he tried to wipe away a few tears from Tommy’s face even though they don’t stop flowing, but what surprises him more is that Tommy leaned into the touch. He didn’t let it show on his face, but it made something twist in his gut. Tommy barely ever did that before, even with him. He would ask about it later.

Tommy cracked a smile after a few more seconds. “Took you fucking long enough, dickhead.” There were still tear stains on his face, but he smiled and lightly punched Wilbur’s arm, receiving a chuckle in return. 

“Yeah, sorry about that buddy,” Wilbur ruffled the blonde’s hair.

They sat on the floor, with one hand from the other still clinging onto each other, petrified of the other disappearing or leaving, with the heavy conversation of hurt and apologies hanging over them as the two of them dealt with the turmoil of what to say next. There’s a deathly silence, an uncomfortable situation for either of them to deal with.

Tommy noticed that there were small spots of blood and slight bruising on Wilbur’s knuckle. His demeanor quickly changed as he grabbed Wilbur’s arm, grumbling. “Wilbur, what the fuck?” Wilbur just laughed tiredly in response. 

“I know, I know, the first thing I do when I come back is go look for trouble,”

“Fucks sake, who-”

“Phil.”

Wilbur doesn’t even hesitate.

“What?” Tommy dropped his arm in shock. His brows furrowed as he studied Wilbur’s face. “Why-”

“He fucking deserved it, Tommy.” Wilbur gripped Tommy’s arm, and Tommy’s expression hardened further, but he didn’t say anymore.

He sniffed, trying to rub the tears on his face away. “Wilbur you don’t need to protect me.” He whispered as he hung his head.

Wilbur looked at his younger brother and his heart choked. Even after Dream being put away in prison, Tommy looked- well he looked like shit, still. There were still bags under his eyes and Wilbur didn’t think he could have seen Tommy more skinny than he already was, but here he was, sitting right in front of him. His jaw tightened. Fucking Dream, he was going to drive his fist through that bastard mask as well, the deserving prick. No one had even bothered to fucking care, his brother had been put through hell and back, and no one had even considered to check on him the whole time. 

“Well, who has?” 

Tommy looked up and opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. He bit his lip in concentration, searching for an answer. He seemed to be coming up empty-handed. 

Wilbur scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,”

“But Techno-”

“Techno looks after you as he should for a week, then stabs you in the back and calls you a traitor? You think he was protecting you in the first place?”

Tommy opened his mouth again but nothing came out, and he looked away in embarrassment. His lip trembled and he tried to bite it again to stop himself from crying again. “Yeah, actually,” came the weak answer. It was so quiet that Wilbur almost didn’t catch it. Wilbur sucked in a breath. He felt warm drops of water on his arm and he looked up to see Tommy crying once more. He was trying to be quiet this time, only small hiccups and some slight whimpering giving him away.

“Hey Tommy, it’s-”

“I really fucking thought he would, you know? He said he was there for me and-” he laughed. “-well of course that wasn’t true, never was, was it? Everyone just fucking leaves,”

Wilbur winced at the words, though agreeing nonetheless. No one had been fair enough to this boy, in his time in this SMP, he was always seemingly needing to be knocked down a peg, though that mostly only came from Dream. Dream, a man scared of a child who wants to be a kid, scared of a kid who says ‘no’. It was funny really in hindsight, how an almost literal god cowered when Tommy was just being stubborn, just being young. That’s how it had always been for them, Wilbur thinks, stubbornness and youth, ever since the beginning in that shitty little van. It was just a little fun and stubbornness, and someone just had to say no and ruin it, ruin them. Ruin him. Ruin Tommy.

He just pulled Tommy in again and let his brother rest his head on his shoulder as he silently cried into the crook of Wilbur's neck. It's the dampness of the tears that reminds that Wilbur's alive, that he's here again, corpeal form and all. The fire was still burning and flickering, and the anger was simmering too, but god, Tommy crying over Techno as if their brother even deserved any of those boy’s tears-

Well- it wasn’t like Wilbur didn’t miss his brother or father either. Angry or not he still missed them. And such a thing as the hope of forgiveness left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was still a hope. His family had been driven apart to opposite ends of the earth and yet this hope of fitting it back together again- maybe he could do that. 

But he wasn’t here for them right now. The person he was here to fit with again was crying on his shoulder, shaking in his embrace. Tommy, his symphony, his little boy, his fighter and baby brother. He was here to protect him, to stay this time. 

He whispered small reassurances into the younger’s hair as Tommy cried and cried, and Wilbur stroked the blonde hair and kissed his head, hoping it would heal him in some way.

No one else would leave him again, ever.

Someone would be there to love him and protect, always.

Wilbur would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> my friend, reading this: so how angry were you when you started writing this?  
> me: slightly angry  
> them: and how angry were you when you finished  
> me:  
> me:  
> me: REALLY ANGRY
> 
> lmao anyways I hope you enjoyed! we love Tommy and Wilbur bonding and crying
> 
> healing pog
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! I love hearing all of you :) also I'm lonely so PLEASE-
> 
> come and chat with me on Tumblr at @jjcantfuckingwrite !
> 
> go check out my other stuff! will have new stuff on the way soon enough :)
> 
> <3


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